


Rule of Three and a Stone

by talekayler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talekayler/pseuds/talekayler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not very often that your suspect binds you to your old school rival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rule of Three and a Stone

**Author's Note:**

> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All mistakes are mine.

The street, as always, was busy. Harry eased through the bodies in his path, his sights set on the person just twenty paces ahead. It wouldn’t do it lose sight of him now, not when he was so close.

He ignored the shout behind him, the sounds of the crowd, the running footsteps and the curse. It wasn’t until he was hit in the back of the head that he looked around, though he’d be quite content to just let whomever it was yell their lungs out. He reached a hand up and rubbed the back of his head, where he could feel the beginnings of a bump forming. He couldn’t see anyone he recognized right away, but he was able to make out the stone lying on the pavement.

Heart shaped, the stone looked innocuous. Giving his suspect up as impossible to catch now, he bent down and picked the stone up. It felt comfortable in his palm, smooth and flat, still a little warm from the hand it must have left recently. Ragged on one edge but smooth on the other, it was nevertheless a perfect stone, streaks of colour that shone in the watery light from a sky threatening to rain. Ordinary, but beautiful.

“Potter.”

He closed his fist around the stone and looked up, and for a moment, he didn’t recognise the face before him. Blond, tall, grey eyed like the sky above. It was the glare though, that reminded him of whom he was dealing with.

“Malfoy,” he said back, in the same flat voice Malfoy had used. He saw Malfoy’s nose twitch, saw his mouth threaten to revert back to its old sneer. Harry himself beat down the desire to grimace and shoved the anger away. It wasn’t anger, really. He knew what it meant to be really angry and Malfoy had never got him that mad before. If anything, he was an annoyance, or depending on the day, comic relief. Even disturbing his case – tracking a man suspected of toying with Muggles – he couldn’t get truly mad at Draco. The suspect always slipped; Harry would find him again. In approximately three minutes.

Draco didn’t say anything, choosing instead to cross his arms and look at Harry as if Harry should know why he was upset. Harry blew out a breath that ruffled his fringe and stared back. He shoved his hands in his pockets rather then folding them over his chest as well.

“What?” he asked.

Draco exploded. “You ignored me!” he spat, his glower gaining more venom. His tone attracted the attention of the Muggles that weren’t already glaring at them for stalling on the sidewalk. “You, Potter, _never_ ignore me.”

“Did you ever think that I was busy? Working, maybe, and didn’t see you?”

Draco turned a little pink at that, and the tension in his arms relaxed a bit. “No,” he said, sounding a tad contrite. Harry felt the beginnings of a smile starting, before Malfoy had to go and ruin it. “But you’re Super Potter; you’ll be able to catch whoever he is in a heartbeat.”

Logically, Harry knew he was right. Especially in regards to this suspect. “I should get right on that, then,” he said, and thought even he could hear the snarl behind it. He could feel the rough edge of the stone digging into his palm as he clenched his hand around it. He turned and tried to meld with the crowd, peering around and trying to spot where the suspect might have gone.

He heard Draco curse again and begin to chase after him. Well fine – if Draco was going to follow him around, Harry would let him, so long as he refrained from getting in the way.

Draco kept quiet behind Harry, his own footsteps getting lost in the chatter of pedestrians around them. He didn’t ask the questions Harry expected to be berated with, nor did he make any remarks or try to start a conversation. It was like having a shadow, and Harry couldn’t bring himself to care.

Going on a hunch, he ducked into the third alley he came across – suspect Trey Tremont liked the number three, apparently – and was followed almost immediately by Draco. Harry had to resist shaking his head, turning around and telling Draco to go back to wherever it was he had come from. It was the hunched form of Tremont that captured his attention, bent double over another shadowed form at the end of the alley.

“Stay here,” Harry ordered, holding out a hand and preventing Draco from going any further. Draco opened his mouth, but shut it quickly and settled for glaring as Harry slipped his wand from his coat and advanced.

This far away from Tremont, Harry wasn’t able to make anything out other than the odd whisper of a spell. He gritted his teeth and moved forward as quietly as he could, being careful to place his feet without making a noise. It helped that Tremont was too fixated on his victim – undoubtedly a Muggle – to look after his own back… for the moment.

Just as Tremont looked as if he was about to conclude the spell, his wand glowing an eerie light blue, Harry’s spell caught his wrist. Tremont let out an undignified squawk and whirled to face Harry.

“Oh, no,” he said, but with more derision than worry over his predicament. “You ‘gain? Not given up yet, ‘ave you?”

“Always,” said Harry. “It’s only the second time we’ve met face to face and I don’t give up easily. No worries.”

In the gloom, he thought he saw Tremont give a wolfish grin. “Ah, silly me. You’re right, o’course: only the second. Which means–” he bent down slowly and hoisted up the man he had with him. Fair haired and young, the Muggle rested heavily on Tremont and looked dazed and not entirely present, cross eyed and pale. “–I ‘ave another shot, don’t I?”

Harry’s grip on his wand tightened a little. “What have you done to him?” he asked calmly, and only received an uneven smile in response.

The distant buzz of London proper wasn’t enough to cover Draco’s movement into the alley, or near loud enough to cover his voice. “On Salazar Slytherin, Potter, it’s easy enough to capture a half-deranged man,” he drawled, coming up to stand slightly behind Harry. “It’s a Muggle; it he gets hurt, fix him up and wipe his memory.”

Irritation distracted him from seeing the feral grin from Tremont. He kept his eyes fixed on the Muggle, but spoke to Draco. “Malfoy, what did I say about–”

“If you can’t do your job, I suppose it’s up to me to finish this for you,” Malfoy said imperiously, and followed it with a spell Harry had never heard before.

“What are you–?” Harry turned just in time to see a bright pink light fly from Draco’s wand to Tremont, who raised his wand and gave it a casual flick. Pink met purple and shattered into a spray of light before it coalesced into an angry red and shot off back to Draco with a whistle. Harry knew immediately the results wouldn’t be good. He shot off his own series of spells, which only succeeded in splitting the red light, not stopping it entirely. His hastily cast shield did nothing; a thin strand of red shot through and struck both him and Draco.

“Bloody fuck!” Harry didn’t know which one of them it was who cursed. All he was aware of was a rising heat in his chest and a new kind of awareness, something settling heavily on his mind. The throbbing in his head wiped out everything except for the “’Ta,” Tremont shot over his back, as he left the alley with the Muggle.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Harry snarled and struggled to his feet, wobbling his way back towards the mouth of the alley. He wasn’t about to let Tremont get away again.

“Stop, Potter!” Draco cried out. “Not so far!”

Harry slumped against the cold metal of a dumpster and fought off a wave of dizziness. His limbs felt like lead and he gasped for breath, leaning his head back against the cool metal.

There was a scrape and Draco dragged himself up until he was sitting beside Harry. “What did you do?” Harry panted.

“Trapping spell,” Draco replied. “Supposed to bind the person in place, a bit like _Petrificus Totalus_. But his spell changed it.”

“What did _he_ do?” Harry thought he didn’t really want to know what the curse did.

“Can’t have changed mine much. It still binds,” Draco said, getting his breath back. “But differently, I think. I think it bound us together.”

Harry closed his eyes. Bad things come in threes, he’d always heard: Loss of the suspect, the appearance of Malfoy, and now this curse.

**.::.::.**

“How do you know so much about this?” Harry asked, resting his chin on his hand as he watched Draco flitter from one table to another.

Draco had brought Harry to this place with no explanation other than “Trust me.” There were four tables cramped together in the room, their corners touching and covered so thickly with parchments, notebooks and odd models that the surfaces were indistinguishable. Stacks of books rested to the side of each one and were squished onto the bookshelves. Harry read one title, ‘ _Magic and the Intermolecular Push_ ’, and gave up.

“Magical theorist,” Draco said. Harry thought Draco was determined to speak in two word sentences from then on, and after Harry had yelled himself hoarse at him, he couldn’t really blame Draco. But he did blame him for allowing Tremont to get away. With a hostage.

Harry kicked the leg of the table every three seconds before he realised what it is he was doing and forced himself to stop. The room was far too quiet. One thing it was good at was annoying Malfoy, which cheered Harry.

“Can’t you just reverse it? It has to be easy,” he said.

“It’s not,” Malfoy snapped and proceeded to ignore Harry in favour of sorting through more parchments. He made a small noise and brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on it briefly. Harry watched him avidly for a moment and forgot to roll his eyes about the two word thing Malfoy had going.

“Well, then, how is it _not_ easy? You must do this sort of thing all day, right? And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have to be bonded to you for too long.”

Malfoy took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I know,” he said and went back to reading. Harry returned to kicking the leg of the table.

It was thirty minutes later when Draco shook him awake from a doze. “What spell did you fire?” he asked shortly.

Harry sat up and winced as his neck complained. He reached a hand up to soothe it and squinted up at Draco. “A neutralizer, and of course, the shield charm. Why?”

“Because it affects it, you dolt.” Draco spun around and waved his wand at the parchments he had been hunched over. They flew into the air and arranged themselves in a neat fashion, which Draco scanned with a critical eye.

“You haven’t even told me how we’re supposed to be ‘ _bonded_ ’,” Harry groused.

“Combination of magic,” Draco said, not turning around. “My spell to bind him in place, the beginning of things; yours, dampening the effects and sealing it all together; his, connecting them. But what spell did he use?” Draco proceeded to mutter under his breath for several moments after that. He turned back to Harry and crossed his arms over his chest, bringing Harry back to the crowded London street. The rock still rested in his pocket, small enough that he hardly noticed it was there. “He’s a binder, Potter. If you hadn’t tried to deflect and play the hero, or even put up a shield – if you had no magical participation _at all_ , this wouldn’t have happened.”

“So he… bound us together? Our magic?”

“Yes,” Draco said. He pulled out a stool and sat down across from Harry, placing his head in his hands. Blond strands fell through his fingers and covered his eyes from Harry’s sight. “And if I’m right, he’s the only one who can reverse this. But his spell… it may have adverse effects.”

“Well, what does the bond do? Obviously, we can’t go too far from each other.” Harry snorted. How was he supposed to live with Malfoy for an unknown length of time? Mind, this wasn’t the Malfoy he had gone to school with. He must have changed, even a little bit.

“I don’t know what else,” Draco gritted out. “It all depends on what spell he used. Mine, obviously, is what created the bond. Yours dampened the effects, so it’s not as strong as it could have been.” He looked up at Harry, shoving his hair away from his face until all that was left was the odd strand hanging in one eye. “His set the parameters.”

“So we’re just going to go into this blindly?”

Draco glowered and said, “Not _blindly_. We’ll figure out things as we go. You just do your job for once and get me that man.”

“Right, then, are we going?” Harry asked, standing. Draco looked at him like he was going bonkers. “We’ve got a man to catch, or did you forget about the bit where we can’t get too far from each other?”

Draco pushed away from the desk and manoeuvred until he was able to lead the way from the room. “Fine, let’s get started. Where are we going?”

Harry caught him by the arm. “First, one question. Why did you try to get my attention?”

Draco dropped his gaze to Harry’s hold on his arm, but Harry didn’t allow his grip to slacken. “I told you; you never ignore me. You strode right past the café without another look and it… I don’t know, alright?” He wrenched his arm from Harry’s hold and stormed off towards the door.

Harry grinned.

And like most things, Malfoy had to ruin it. “I’m going home first to do more research, and you had better hurry.”

.::.::.

Malfoy Manor looked just like Harry remembered it: stoic and imperial and much too large, complete with wrought iron gates and peacocks. He eyed one cautiously as they passed them, Draco marching on ahead like one of those tin toy soldiers. He kept his gaze focussed on Draco’s back as they continued up the path, not really wanting to examine his surroundings too much.

They didn’t see anyone on their way up to a library – Harry was sure there had to be more than one in here – for which Harry was quite grateful. He didn’t know what he’d say to either Lucius or Narcissa Malfoy and this predicament with their son.

Harry trailed behind as Draco as they made their way through the Manor, passing doors though corridor after corridor. The library, when they got to it, seemed as large as the one at Hogwarts. Harry could almost imagine Madam Pince prowling through the shelves and making sure every individual book was in its place.

“Right, what are we doing here?” Harry asked. Draco didn’t stop, though, heading off towards a set of shelves.

“I’m making sure I haven’t missed anything.” He didn’t say anything after that, pulling down books and scrolls and sending them off towards the middle of the room, where Harry could see large, ornate chaises arranged around circular tables. “You, Potter, aren’t to touch anything.”

Honestly, Harry expected that. He began walking towards the table where Draco was sending the books, wondering how far away he could get. Halfway to the table, he stopped, an ache in his head and in his chest. Right. About the length of a good sized table. So at least they could sit on opposite sides.

Draco made an irritated noise and walked over with several books in his arms. “You just have to poke the dragon’s eye, don’t you? Hold these,” he said, shoving the books into Harry’s chest. The top book threatened to fall, but steadied quickly enough.

Draco grabbed one last book and led the way to the tables. Harry dropped the books onto the table with a thump and sat across from Draco. Seeing as Draco was already buried in parchments and books, Harry pulled one of the books toward him and flipped it open.

He’d never have picked any of this up working as a Hit Wizard. Even if he didn’t understand half of it, it still made for a fascinating read. Absently, he pulled out the stone and rested the bottom on the table, rolling it from side to side as he read bits and pieces.

“Why do you still have that thing?”

“Hmm?” Harry looked up to see Draco staring at the rock beneath Harry’s finger. “I dunno,” he said. “Why? Any reason I shouldn’t have it?”

Draco blinked and looked away. “No. Not really.” He returned to his reading quietly. Harry didn’t look away, but Draco kept his head down and eyes averted, so Harry returned to his reading.

Harry didn’t know how long they sat at the desk. Every now and then, he shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the occasional throb and pull, and the tension he felt in his magic. So when Lucius slammed the doors of the library open, Harry hadn’t realised that he and Draco were now sitting much closer together then they had been before.

“Draco, you had better–” Lucius stopped and looked at Harry. “Potter,” he said, giving Harry an odd look, then darting a glance to Draco. He straightened.

“Yes, Father?” Draco asked, turning a page of his book.

Harry watched from beneath his lashes as Lucius shook his head. “Never mind. It might not be necessary anymore,” he said, and half turned for the door. He looked back over his shoulder and asked, “May I at least ask why Potter is here?”

“Stuck to him,” Harry replied. “Not by choice, I assure you.”

“Hmm. Some good may come of this yet,” Lucius said and stalked back towards the corridor.

Bewildered, Harry turned to Draco. “What was that about?”

Draco gave a half shrug. “He’s been oddly cryptic lately. I’ve stopped worrying, as half of it makes no sense and the other half are things I can’t be arsed to believe.” There was a beat, then, “Why are you sitting so close to me?”

“Me? You moved over too, you know!”

Malfoy flushed. “I did not!” He began to scoot back over to where the rest of his books rested in a pile, but stopped abruptly; Harry felt it too. Almost like an elastic cord pulled taught between them. “The length of distance shortened,” Draco said, exchanging a horrified glance with Harry.

“We’ll get him soon, three days at the most,” Harry found himself saying.

“Three?” asked Draco. “If this fellow does things in three, like you said he does, it could be as long as three years.”

Harry paused; he hadn’t thought of that. “It won’t be though,” he said. “There two ways it can go: we find him, or we kill each other before we find a reversal of the bond.”

“Well, it won’t be _me_ dying,” Draco muttered, which Harry pointedly ignored.

**.::.::.**

Draco’s supply of books increased steadily throughout the evening, growing larger piles beside him. Harry, after giving up on the first book when it had begun spouting off a load of hogwash, had dragged Draco with him to get some paper work. He might as well update Tremont’s file.

A house elf had appeared just after six bearing a tray of food, of which Draco only took a sampling of and left the rest for Harry. Which was – Harry looked at the grandfather clock at the end of one of the shelves – nearly seven and a half hours ago. He blinked and wondered where the time had gone. Looking over to his side, he noticed that Draco had fallen asleep, his head pillowed on a book and gently snoring.

“Oh, for,” Harry muttered, and let his head fall until it connected with the back of his chair. He rolled his head to the side and watched as Draco huffed little breaths that ruffled the books pages. Harry’s face softened.

“Right, let’s get you to bed.” He eased his chair back and slipped an arm around Draco’s waist, nudging him around until he was facing Harry. Draco went with him willingly, making small protestations and mumbling, but he didn’t wake. His forehead fell onto Harry’s shoulder, his hair tickling Harry’s neck with every movement. Gingerly, Harry lifted Draco from the chair and hefted him up. One of Draco’s arms found its way around his neck, just tight enough that it wasn’t about to slip off.

Carefully, Harry made his way to the entrance of the library, hoping that he wouldn’t drop Draco; the blond would never let him forget it. It was only once past the doors, the sound of them closing behind him echoing down the corridor, that he realised he had no idea where he was. And no idea of what to do with Draco, who was steadily becoming harder to support.

Why didn’t he think of using a lightening charm or a levitation spell? What made him think that _carrying_ Draco was the best option?

Harry shifted his load into a more comfortable position and started off down the hallway. He hadn’t gotten far before someone walked around the corner ahead and came towards them.

“Mrs Malfoy,” he greeted in a hushed whisper.

Narcissa came to stand beside him, looking curiously at her son in Harry’s arms. She smiled. “He sometimes forgets the time, and often falls asleep in there when working on a large project.”

“Right,” Harry said, trying to keep a grip on Draco as he started squirming. Draco mumbled something against Harry’s neck, sending shivers down Harry’s spine and a jolt of pleasure. It was probably the worst moment for Harry to realise that his hand was awfully close to Draco’s bum, as he stood in the hallway with his mother.

“Can you show me where…?”

“Of course,” she said, and motioned towards the other end of the corridor. Harry followed after her, trying to rid himself of the thought that his and Draco’s groins were really quite close.

“What does he do normally do in there?” he asked, in an effort to distract himself.

“Draco’s… been secretive lately. Hiding away.” Narcissa didn’t look at him as she spoke, flicking her wand every now and then to send little balls of light down their path. “He’s been keeping away from wizards and losing himself in magical theory or whatever he is calling it now.”

“Hiding away?” Harry huffed.

Narcissa nodded. “Yes. He doesn’t trust the wizarding communities to not be after us. He’s been avoiding any wizarding places and keeping to Muggle communities.”

She stopped before a pair of dark mahogany doors. “He needs someone he can trust, Mr Potter. Who better then someone who has already saved his life and his family?” With that, she waved the doors open and turned on her heel. Harry watched her walk back down the corridor and turn the corner.

He couldn’t make out the details of Draco’s room when he walked through, but there was no way he’d miss the bed. Tucked away in a corner and partially hidden behind a privacy screen, it towered over the rest of the room and Harry had to wonder why Draco needed such a large bed.

He refrained from just dumping Draco onto the bed, instead laying him down carefully. Splayed out on the bed, Draco looked far more peaceful and vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him before. A small crease formed on his brow as Harry straightened away from him.

Grabbing one of the many pillows that littered the bed, Harry moved to the other side of the screen and Transfigured it into a decent sized cot. There was no way he was sleeping in the same bed as Draco. For one, he’d get lost in a bed that size, and for another, Malfoy would probably smother him with a pillow before he woke.

He sighed as he eased down onto the pillow-bed, setting his glasses off to the side with his robes. He was just close enough that the bond wasn’t going to be a bother. It felt comfortable though, content, as it twined with his magic. His and Draco’s magic.

**.::.::.**

Harry woke the worst way possible; he fell out of bed.

Or rather, the bed morphed back into a pillow and dumped him on the floor.

“That was my favourite pillow! And you used it for a _bed_?” Draco ducked and grabbed it off the floor, clutching it tightly to his chest.

Harry sat up with a groan and blinked at Draco. “What?” he asked.

“You didn’t even have the decency to cover me! What if I’d caught a cold? Then what would you do?”

Harry flopped back down and flung an arm over his eyes. “I’d have said, ‘so sorry, maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep in a library anymore’.”

There was a beat, then, “Oh, just – just get up already!” and Draco flung the pillow back at him. Harry heard the slam of a door, the sound of running water and had the presence of mind to be thankful that the bathroom was close enough that he wasn’t about to get a headache.

After that, the morning was largely uneventful, if the part about breakfast went ignored. Harry had refused to go down to the breakfast room, and Draco was adamant about eating, to which Harry said, “If you’d had more supper, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” and dragged him from the room. Which resulted in a very sour Draco, sitting in the Leaky Cauldron.

“Could have at least picked a better spot,” he grumbled, glaring at his kippers as if they had wronged him just by existing.

“It’s as good as any,” Harry said, slathering his toast with marmalade. Draco sighed and began to take dainty bites.

His posture, Harry noticed, was stiff. And while his face looked relaxed, Harry could see lines of tension and stress.

“Your mum found me last night,” he said casually. He hadn’t thought it would have been possible for Draco to stiffen any further, but Draco proved that assumption wrong.

“Must have missed a very interesting discussion,” he said, sipping his coffee.

“She said you don’t go out very often anymore. Why is that?”

Draco shrugged and eyed the door of the pub. “I don’t feel like it. And why does it matter? Don’t we have bigger issues on our hands?”

Harry sat back in his chair. “Fine. But I’m not going back to any musty libraries or cramped offices. You said you wanted to find out what spell it was he used, and the best way to do that is to ask him. We’re going to find him.”

“And how do you expect to do that, Hit Wizard Potter?”

Harry flushed and shoved his plate away. There was something about the way Draco said his title that got to him. No one had ever said it like _that_. Draco seemed to notice Harry’s reaction, or the tone he had used, for he flushed a bright pink and avoided eye contact.

“Right, well,” Harry said, trying to erase the tension that had wormed its way onto the table to sit there like a lump on the scarred surface. “We’ll just go through his territory, shall we?” Draco nodded and stood, his chair scraping back against the stone floor rather loudly.

The day, predictably, turned up nothing. Draco, much to Harry’s surprise, didn’t complain though. He looked much more relaxed, walking around Muggle London with him, his steps light and his eyes darting every which way. He proceeded to drag Harry into several stores to purchase a variety of trinkets, leaving Harry to wonder when Draco became so adept at using Muggle money, and how long he’d been doing it for.

Draco managed to fill both of their pockets fit to burst, even with the help of shrinking charms, by the afternoon. Harry’s cloak weighed heavily on him, and he knew that even if they did catch Tremont, he was in no condition to chase after him again.

Harry fell a little behind Draco as they walked down the sidewalk. Draco was nattering on ahead and probably didn’t even notice Harry’s tardiness, gesturing oddly here and there and earning suspicious looks from the Muggles. Harry rolled his eyes and glanced through the windows as they passed.

He hadn’t realised how far he had fallen behind until his chest started to tighten and a fresh headache bloomed behind his left eye. He clapped a hand to his forehead – an old reflex – and hunched over a little on the street. Ahead of him, he dimly heard Draco come to a halt and curse loudly and obscenely.

“You couldn’t even try to keep up? What’s with you, Potter? Masochism?” Harry raised his head to glare at Draco, but wasn’t quick enough to stop him from speaking. “Though I can see why, you know. I wouldn’t at all be surprised, but personally, I think you’re more of a dominant type. The type would throw his partner down and tease–”

“You’ve thought of it often, have you, Malfoy?” was the best thing Harry could come up with. And though a nearby mother shepherded her child away from them and threw Harry a nasty look, Draco snapped his mouth shut, so Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Harry straightened and fixed his robe, ensuring that the illusion spell that hid it from Muggles hadn’t been disturbed and nearly missed hearing Draco’s muttered, “I might have.” He looked up sharply, but Draco wasn’t looking anywhere near him.

“Clearly, you weren’t too far away, Potter, so I think I’m correct – I _am_ correct in saying that this… _thing_ between us has grown shorter. And will continue to do so.” Malfoy had recovered quickly, leaving Harry to wonder if he had only imagined what Draco had said just moments ago. “Which will complicate things, so I suggest you get a move on and keep up this time.” He turned on his heel and Harry rushed after him.

Harry found himself taking Draco’s words to heart and walking quite close to him. Or maybe Draco was the one walking close. Harry’s head had never truly stopped spinning and he was sure there was something on Draco’s robes that had some sort of effect on him. Cologne didn’t smell _that_ good.

As the sun started to set lower in the sky, Draco turned to him and Harry thought it was unfair of the sun to set in the west. Or for Draco to be positioned so perfectly that the sun lit up his hair and accentuated his face. Bloody prick had probably planned it out.

“We’re not going to find him,” Draco said, looking at a point somewhere beneath Harry’s eyes. Harry didn’t bother trying to figure out where Draco was looking. He sighed in defeat.

“No, I suppose not.” But it was too nice of a night to go back to the Manor. And not just because of the possibility of facing Lucius or Narcissa and their odd looks and silence. Harry glanced around the street, the closing shops and the pools of light on the pavement from the lamps. Further down the road, a large theatre was brightly illuminated, and Harry was struck by an idea. He nodded towards it. “I have an idea.”

Draco frowned and looked at the entrance and the line of people before the doors. “What, you think he’s taking refuge in a Muggle cinema?”

“No, you – look, it’s been a long few days, hasn’t it? We can at least take some time for ourselves, can’t we?” Harry looked at Draco’s thoughtful expression, the quirk of his eyebrow.

“Fine,” Draco said. “But you’re getting the tickets.”

Harry didn’t know what film they were going to see, nor did he particularly care. He craned his neck several times, trying to see the front of the line to estimate how much longer of a wait they had before them until Draco pushed on his shoulders and forced him to stand properly. But Harry could tell that Draco was just as excited. Well, maybe curious fit the bill better.

By the time they got up to the counter, Harry was positively vibrating. He’d never really been to the Muggle cinema before, never having been taken with the Dursleys. Watching a film on the telly didn’t compare, he thought.

Draco found the counter for the sweets like a niffler after gold and somehow managed to wrangle his way into a spot near the front of the line. Harry hid a smirk and covered it with a reproachful look at Draco, who sniffed and shrugged a shoulder.

Draco got a few of everything, ranging from popcorn to jellies to fudge to bonbons. Now laden down with sweets as well as Draco’s previous shopping, Harry tried desperately to juggle the armful of sweets Draco had shoved at him without dropping any. Harry hoped he was imagining the dirty looks they kept attracting.

“Why is it so bloody dark?” Draco muttered under his breath as they entered the room. “Here, let me get my wand, I’ll cast a _Lumos_ –”

“No, you can’t!” Harry hissed at him. In the brief struggle where he tried to keep Draco from pulling out his wand, several packages fell to the floor and the popcorn spilled over. Draco glared at him.

“You’re replacing that, Potter.”

Harry heaved a sigh, but went back to replace the popcorn with Draco – who made sure to get the biggest size possible.

It wasn’t until they were settled in their seats surrounded by a dozen crinkling noises from the packages that Harry realised that he and Draco were on the equivalent of a Muggle date. He flushed and looked over at where Draco was stealthily withdrawing his wand to open the sweet packets.

It was hard to pay attention to the movie after that realisation. And then it was hard to focus on that realisation, when Draco kept shoving unwanted sweets at him, claiming that he didn’t really like it, even after he had polished off half the packet.

Harry found it difficult to concentrate on much of anything, really, and not just due to Draco pressing sweets on him. It was more of Draco himself that was being a distraction. Harry found himself increasingly thankful that the theatre was dark so that no one was able to notice that he watched as Draco lifted various sweets to his mouth, part his lips and suck the sweet into his mouth. His movements seemed sensuous and without conscious thought.

Harry glanced down at one of the many packets that littered his lap. Maybe he could pluck one of those small, red, heart-shaped sweets that had spilled and offer it to Draco. He could see the look Draco would give him, slightly bemused and with that smirk that told volumes. He’d part his lips and wrap them around the sweet Harry held between his fingers, all without breaking eye contact. The sweet would disappear, and Draco would suck Harry’s fingers deeper into his mouth, maybe add a teasing nip to the pad of one finger….

Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge that picture and pay attention to the film. It didn’t help, really.

Not five minutes into attempting to paying attention, Harry couldn’t help but think that the two main male characters must have a _thing_ for each other. It was all in how they acted around each other, the looks they shared.

He could feel the heat that rose off Draco beside him. The smell of that cologne or whatever it was Draco used. But the most maddening part about seeing the film with Draco was the sound of him licking sugar and salt off his fingers.

The movie was obscenely long, Harry thought. He had never found his lap so interesting before. The tumble of sweets and dots of sugar that dusted his clothes were far more interesting, and they seemed so innocent as they sparkled in the light from the film, and later, the lights of the cinema.

“Well, I quite enjoyed that. I don’t know about you, but I thought for sure those two–”

“Yes, quite possibly,” Harry cut him off before anything more could be said and stood, sending a shower of sugar and assorted sweets to the floor. Draco frowned disapprovingly at the pile at Harry’s feet.

“I gave you those to eat,” he said.

“Sorry,” Harry said sheepishly. “I got… distracted.”

Draco’s disapproval turned into a leer. “I’m sure,” he said. With a last look at Harry, he led the way down the aisle and to the doors. Harry hurried to keep up; even the few feet between them was irritating their magic and making it fizzle.

Once outside the cinema, Draco grabbed hold of Harry’s elbow and cast him another of those _looks_ , making Harry swallow nervously.

“Getting late, isn’t it?” Draco asked and Harry supposed it was. “Best to turn in?” He turned on the spot before Harry could say anything in reply.

 ****

.::.::.

Draco was all business once they were inside the Manor, a sharp contrast between how he was at the cinema, and even the walk up the gravel drive. Harry didn’t quite know what to think. It didn’t help the fact that his head was pounding a little. And by the looks of it, Draco had the same headache.

The walk up to Draco’s room was silent, only their footfalls beating a steady rhythm on the flagstones intruding on the silence. At the top of the staircase, Harry thought he saw someone watching them ascend, but once they reached the top, there was no sign of anyone nearby. Maybe just a house elf, doing rounds.

Harry shucked his robes after the door to Draco’s room closed, his pockets still weighed down from Draco’s shopping and the odd sweet packet. Draco looked much too happy as he went through Harry’s pockets and retrieved his items. All Harry wanted to do was go to bed.

“Potter,” Draco said, recapturing Harry’s attention from where it had wandered towards the bathroom. “What is this doing in your pocket?”

In his palm nestled a small stone. Harry reached over and plucked it from Draco’s hand, turning it over and smoothing a thumb across the surface. “I forgot I still had this.”

“Why’d you keep it?”

Harry closed his fist around the stone and look up to meet Draco’s eyes. “I dunno,” he said truthfully. Draco didn’t do anything for a moment, casting a careful look over Harry. Just as Harry was beginning to feel slightly uneasy, Draco huffed and strode off towards the bath. Harry followed, still running his thumb over the edge of the stone.

He placed the stone down on the counter that ran the length of the wall by the door, taking in the bathroom as Draco – _was he stripping?_

Harry goggled.

Draco looked over his shoulder. “It’s called getting ready to take a shower, Potter. There’s a spare over there,” he waved his hand over to the side, and Harry – reluctantly – transferred his attention from the disrobing Draco to the second showerhead. Clearly, they were meant to be used together, seeing how closely they were positioned.

Harry’s fingers trembled a little, slipping over the buttons of his shirt. By the time he got it off, Draco was removing his trousers, pulling them down with his pants. Harry folded his shirt meticulously, hoping that it would help calm him. All it seemed to do, though, was amplify the tension. He abandoned the rest of his clothes, leaving them to pile on the floor. He folded his glasses carefully and placed them on top of the heap.

He tried not to look at Draco when he stepped under the spray, fought not to notice the water sluicing down his back and slicking his hair, ignored his own sweaty palms and attributed the flush he knew was in his cheeks to the heat of the room. He hoped that the steam would hide anything telling.

Carefully, Harry stepped under the second nozzle and under the jet of water already coming down. Hot water wasn’t going to do anything for him, sadly, but he took it in stride. Draco shoved several bottles in his direction.

“Take your pick.”

Harry picked up the first bottle and brought it close to examine it. “These are all shampoo?”

Over the rush of water, he heard Draco snort. “Yes. Variety is good. It’s nice to change things up every now and then.”

Harry shrugged and washed his hair as quickly as he could.

It was the most uncomfortable shower Harry had ever taken. He wasn’t even sure how much of it he spent showering over concentrating on not looking beside him and trying to fight down the erection that was insistent on being noticed.

“How long do you intend to stay there, Potter?” Draco asked, shocking Harry out of his concentration. He looked over his shoulder, squinting between the water and general blurriness of vision, to see Draco holding up a bundle of material. “Spare pyjamas,” Draco said.

Harry grabbed the towel slung over the wall and wrapped it carefully around his hips. Draco was already dressed and dry, his hair just a little damp from the humidity. The ends were curled just a bit, and the water made it look longer than Harry could ever remember seeing it in their school days.

Harry took the offered clothes and held them awkwardly. “Are you going to watch me dress?” he asked when Draco didn’t turn around. Draco flushed and turned around slowly, and Harry thought he heard Draco mutter something under his breath. He paid it no mind though; he was sure he had just imagined whatever it was Draco had said.

The bottoms were a little long on him, the sleeves falling past the tips of his fingers; Draco’s clothes seemed to envelop him, caressing his skin in a way that Harry had never felt before. And of course Draco would have clothes like these, utterly soft to the touch. Only he would wear silk, or some such material, to bed.

Draco’s face, when he turned back to face Harry, was a little predatory, if Harry thought about it. Or, quite possibly, he was imagining things again. Because all Draco did was turn on his heel and lead the way out of the steam filled room. Harry exited after him.

“Not there,” Draco said, stopping Harry from rounding the other side of the screen. He motioned over to the bed. “You might as well sleep here.”

Harry looked at him, then to the bed in question. “What, sleep there with you?”

Draco snorted. “Well, sleeping on the other side of the screen is going to be impossible now, isn’t it? What with how close this bond is dragging us together – which, by the way, you had better hope that Trevor, or whatever his name is, shows his face tomorrow.” Draco fixed Harry with a hard stare, but Harry thought he heard a faint thread of regret lacing Draco’s words. But before Harry could be sure, Draco continued, “Either way, I do not fancy ending up on the floor in the middle of the night, nor do I fancy having to try sleeping with a headache.”

Harry didn’t bother asking the ‘ _Are you sure?_ ’ that was on the tip of his tongue. Besides, the bed was big enough for two of them. He was quite glad that he hadn’t asked the question when he sank onto the mattress, being enveloped by comfort and warmth. Draco grinned down at him from where he still stood by the bed. With a flick of a wand, the lights went out.

Harry’s senses tingled in such close quarters with Draco, in the dark, as they shared a bed. All he could think about was Draco lying beside him, and his mind insisted on going back to Draco in the shower. He heard Draco moving around, trying to get comfortable and ending up closer to Harry by the time he settled. Harry kept still, unmoving and unwilling to do so, lest he disturb Draco and get yelled at.

Beside him, he could hear Draco’s breathing slowing; feel the odd huff of breath on his cheek. Against his better judgement, he turned his head to look as Draco slept beside him. His hair spilled over the pillow, face relaxed and mouth partially open. Harry smiled softly and shifted onto his side, keeping one eye on Draco before he fell asleep.

**.::.::.**

Harry’s experience waking this time around was much better than the last. From the sunlight streaming in through the curtains to the warmth of the bed to the arm slung over his waist. He burrowed down deeper into the blankets, pressing his face into the pillow and stifling a yawn.

Blinking against the sunlight, the first thing Harry saw was Draco staring back at him. Harry started and began to sit up.

Draco’s arm fell away from its position over Harry’s side, and before Harry could ask anything, Draco was sitting up as well and slinging his legs over the other side of the bed. “Time to get up, is it?”

“You’re in a much better mood this morning,” Harry observed, squinting over at Draco’s sleep-tousled state. “Compared to last.”

Harry thought he saw Draco wink at him, but that might just been due of the lack of glasses. “Much better sleep. We’ve got a full day ahead of us. I was thinking about checking out the Muggle museum. I’ve always walked past but have yet to go in yet. Or we could–”

“Didn’t you want to get Tremont and get this bond dissolved?”

Draco stopped from where he was standing at the foot of the bed and undoing the buttons on his pyjama top. Harry groped around on the bedside table for his glasses and slipped them on.

“Right,” Draco said. “And we’d be going to Muggle places, Potter. There’s every chance that he’d be there.”

Harry didn’t think this very likely, but he threw the covers off anyways. If Draco wanted to go to a museum, so be it. He wasn’t particularly in a mood to argue his point. Draco tossed him his clothes from the day before.

“The house elves cleaned them. Or if you like, I have some spare clothing you could use. Pants or shirts and the like.” Harry flushed at the thought of wearing Draco’s pants, and Draco, as if knowing what he was thinking, smirked. “Or you can just go without pants,” he drawled.

Harry tried his best to ignore him, but couldn’t help but sneak a peek as Draco dressed. He did consider it a job well done that he hadn’t done so before, during the shower, so maybe sneaking a glance now could be considered his reward? Harry thought so.

Draco insisted on having breakfast at the Manor, to which Harry had to concede. He tried to flatten his hair before leaving to go downstairs, but gave it up as a lost cause when the mirror laughed. Draco chuckled all down the hallway.

Narcissa was already seated at the table when they came in, sipping a cup of tea. She looked up as they entered, and Harry thought she was hiding a smile behind her cup. He resisted the urge to glower, and instead bid her a good morning.

“Good morning, Harry, Draco. I trust the past two days have treated you well?”

“As well as can be expected, Mother,” Draco said, sitting. The plate before him filled with a wide variety of food, making Harry’s stomach rumble from the aromas alone. Unsure of what to do, he took the empty seat next to Draco. A loaded plate appeared before him, nearly overflowing with hot cakes swimming in syrup and jam, toast and marmalade and omelettes. Picking up his fork with numb fingers, Harry found it hard to choose which to dig into first.

Lucius made his appearance not five minutes after their arrival. He greeted both Harry and Draco with curt nods before taking his place at the other end of table.

Casually – almost too casually, Harry thought – he surveyed them over the top of the _Daily Prophet_. “Any plans for the afternoon, gentlemen? Something Muggle, perhaps?” There wasn’t any of the disdain Harry would have expected there to be, only a bored tone.

“Museum,” Draco answered without pause. Harry narrowed his eyes at Lucius, not liking how he had presented that question, nor the too-aloof façade he wore. Lucius only shook his paper and continued to read.

It was then when Harry realised that Draco must really be spending a lot of time in the Muggle world, and had been for a long time if his father had become so passive about it. Lucius seemed to expect it, now.

Narcissa excused herself a moment later, citing an owl that she needed to send to an old friend, and would Harry be staying for dinner? Harry shook his head, really hoping that Tremont slipped up today, so that he wouldn’t have to be. He didn’t know how much longer he could put up with the surrealism of this situation.

“I trust, Mr Potter, that my wife has told you about Draco’s recent fondness for Muggles?’ Lucius asked, setting his paper aside. His eyes still carried that coldness that Harry always encountered when making eye contact with him, and Harry knew that even with Draco’s recent ‘fondness’ for Muggles, Lucius hadn’t really changed his view point much at all, really. Lucius’ next words only solidified his thoughts. “It’s all quite silly, as I’m sure you can understand, what with–”

“Right,” Draco said, standing abruptly and interrupting Lucius. “Potter and I had best be off.” He stood and dragged Harry up with him by the back of his robe. Harry dropped his omelette-laden fork; it landed with a clatter and showered egg over the clean tablecloth. From the brief look he managed to grab as Draco began to drag him away, Lucius’s jaw was tight and he thought he saw a tic beginning to form at his temple. Harry followed Draco quietly.

“Where is this museum anyways?” he asked when they were outside and surrounded only by peacocks and sunlight.

Draco grabbed his arm. “I’ll show you,” he said, and turned.

**.::.::.**

They were halfway up the stairs going inside when Harry realised that Draco had never released his hold on Harry’s arm. Harry didn’t quite know what to think. It was nice, he supposed, a firm but gentle pressure, and Harry only wished that Draco wasn’t gripping his wrist, but maybe his hand instead. He flushed at the thought and refused to make eye contact with Draco. But he didn’t pull his hand away.

Like at the cinema, Harry found it hard to concentrate on the exhibits. They went from room to room, Draco pointing things out and dragging Harry around, pausing only to talk loudly about Muggle history and how many of the facts they got wrong, because clearly, these cases had wizard interferences written all over them.

After the seventh such exclamation, Harry had to drag him from the building, telling anyone he came across that Draco was still a little hung over from a party they had been to the night before.

Draco snorted as they descended the stairs. “Party, yes, it was quite the fun night, wasn’t it? Shopping and a movie. My favourite bits though, I think, were the shower and falling into bed.” He shot a telling glance Harry’s way. Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and fought a losing battle against the flush creeping up from beneath his collar.

The sky was bright and clear; the weather warm and pleasant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco give him another of those _looks_ ; his heart skipped a beat.

“Well, Potter. Since this can be considered, what, our second date?” – Draco grinned when Harry missed a step – “I think it’s my turn to treat you.”

Harry barely restrained himself from saying that Draco had in fact ‘treated him’ last night with just the shower, never mind the bed, by biting his tongue and following as Draco headed over to a stall set up in the middle of the square. He didn’t even pretend to not look at Draco’s arse.

“Two lemon ice lollies – oh, no, one lemon lolly and a large sundae… or a knickerbocker glory. Or… Potter, what’s a snow cone?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said slowly.

“Never mind, maybe two knickerbockers? How big do you make them? Can you add extra–”

“Malfoy.”

“ – chocolate to it? What are you doing? Don’t be stingy with the cherries! I’m paying you for this, you know!”

“Draco!”

Draco spun around to face him. “What?”

Harry nodded over to a figure standing half in the shadows of an alley. “It’s him.”

Draco’s eyes slid from Harry to where Tremont was standing. Harry turned his head just enough to be able to see the glint of the sun off teeth as he grinned at them. “Well I’ll be darned, Potter. I didn’t actually think that he’d show up just two days later.” He turned to the vendor who was just setting the ice creams on the counter, topped high with extra chocolate and cherries. “Thank you, but it appears that we’ve changed our minds.”

Harry heard the vendor shout out after them, but he was already halfway to the alley, Draco running after him to catch up.

Harry saw Tremont slide further into the alley, being swallowed by the shadows. He cursed and sped up; he wasn’t going to lose him now.

Tremont, it appeared, did not want to get lost, though. He stood just out of sight from the square with his arms crossed casually over his chest and leaning against the wall as he waited. Harry couldn’t see his wand anywhere on his person, and assumed it was tucked away in a pocket. He kept his wand trained on Tremont’s chest.

Tremont grinned. “Ah, goon’un, I see there weren’t no nasty side effects,” he said as Draco appeared behind Harry, panting for breath.

“Side effects?” Harry asked, repositioning his wand into a more comfortable and flexible position. He narrowed his eyes.

Tremont laughed, taking Harry aback. “Surprised you ‘aven’t noticed yet!”

“Oh, for,” Draco said, and pushed past Harry, ignoring his squawk of outrage. “What about this bond you have on us? What spell did you cast?”

“Dodn’t matter,” Tremont shrugged. His grin didn’t waver.

Harry managed to grab a hold of Draco’s robe before he was able to launch himself at Tremont. “What do you mean ‘doesn’t matter’?” Draco snarled.

“Well f’rstly, is it bothering you now? D’you even notice it?” He raised an eyebrow and gestured between them. “Clearly you’re not at each other’s throats as Lucius may ‘ave suspected.”

“What’s my father have to do with any of this?” Draco asked. Harry could feel him shaking through the hold he had on his robe.

“Second,” Tremont continued, talking over Draco, “dodn’t matter what spell I used ‘cause it didn’t do much of anything, really. You were lookin’ for something sinister. You probably dodn’t even consider the option of it bein’ a joining spell. If you ‘ad thought about it, you’d ‘ave realised that yourself.

“Third, if it’d kept shrinking, you two wouldn’t be further than a hands span ‘way from each other. Yet you ran ‘ere with several feet between you. Why d’you think that is?”

Neither Draco nor Harry had anything to say to that. Harry hadn’t even realised. Tremont’s grin widened even more as if he knew what they were thinking. “Lasted twenty-seven hours, it did.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “Twenty-seven? But that’s…?”

“Three times three times three,” Tremont answered with a cocky grin, and Harry could have kicked himself for being so obtuse.

“What was the point?” Harry tugged Draco out of the way. “It doesn’t matter anyway, there’s still the problems with the Muggles. You’re going in either way.”

Tremont waved a hand flippantly. “Never mind them, they’re all okay. Just check with the fam’lies. And as for the spell, t’was my job.” He winked at them. “Needed the Muggles to get you interested, Potter.”

“Job.” Draco said from the side. “And my father. What did he make you do? What was the point?”

“Ahh, now that’s something you should take up with ‘im.” He slunk away further into the shadows, melding in with them. “’fter all, I was on’y needed as a catalyst.”

Before Harry could do more than raise his wand again, Tremont was gone with a flick of his cloak. He cursed.

“Right, we’re going back to the Manor.” Draco dragged Harry further into the alley until they reached the point where Tremont had vanished. Harry went with him willingly, still trying to puzzle out everything that had happened.

**.::.::.**

Draco threw open the doors to the tea room loudly, but the noise didn’t appear to bother either Lucius or Narcissa, both of whom remained sitting rather calmly. Draco stormed into the room, standing in the open space just before them and glared. Harry followed a bit more quietly.

“Ah, already?” Lucius said, and set aside the journal he was flipping through. He folded his hands together on his lap and looked up at Draco.

“A bond?” Draco said quietly. “Why? And why to Potter?”

Narcissa stood, preventing Lucius from saying any more. “Concern for you,” she said. “You’re not as comfortable in the wizarding world as you once were. We thought that if you felt safer with company, or knew you had someone to help protect you….”

“Protect me?” Draco said. Harry wasn’t sure if his outrage was genuine or mocking.

“Well, who better to do the protecting than Harry Potter?” Lucius sneered at Harry from around Draco. “No one is going to actively go against him if he’s with you. He has, after all, saved your life before. Therefore, a certain degree of trust can grow from that. And then you’d feel more comfortable being out among wizards again without thinking that they all have malicious intentions towards you.”

Harry recalled meeting Narcissa while carrying Draco back to his room in the dark of night. She had said something along those lines as well. He missed whatever it was that had been said next, but whatever it was caused a pink flush to rise in Draco’s cheeks, tentative happiness to show in Narcissa and a twisted expression to grace Lucius’ face.

“Right, well,” he said, and started to back towards the door. “Seeing as how there’s really no more need for me to be here, I’ll just go.”

Draco turned and stomped towards him, freezing Harry in his tracks and making a strange pulse of heat start in his gut. Draco hustled him out the door and Harry thought he heard Lucius groan, which was cut off abruptly when Draco slammed the doors closed.

“Sorry, but if I had stayed in there one more second, you’d have had to take me to Azkaban, and then I wouldn’t be able to do what I’ve been wanting to.”

“What have you been wanting to do?” Harry asked.

“This,” Draco said and shoved Harry back into the doors. Harry opened his mouth to protest the rough treatment, but found himself unable to do so, with Draco’s lips on his. Automatically, his hands fisted the material of Draco’s robes at his hips as he pulled him closer, pressing back into the kiss. Draco pressed Harry back against the doors, shoving his hands through Harry’s hair and touching his tongue lightly to Harry’s lips. Harry felt a shudder wrack his body and he opened his mouth, meeting Draco’s tongue as the kiss intensified.

“They may have had a point,” Draco breathed, pulling away. “I mean, this wouldn’t have happened any other way, and I don’t even know what _this_ is or will be, but I think they must have seen it coming, or my mother did, at least, and–”

“You talk too much,” Harry said, and dragged him forward again for a messier kiss, all teeth and tongue and tight grips.

Draco’s lips were starting to look red, and that flush Harry had discovered to be quite attractive was back. He’d have to be sure Draco had it a lot from now on. “Can we not continue to snog against a door where my parents are on the other side, please?”

Harry gaped at him and shoved away from the door. “Well, thanks for that!” he said and dashed the back of his hand over his mouth. Draco guffawed.

“Or we can just continue here until my father comes out. Love to see what would happen; teach him not to meddle.”

“It would probably be worse for us though, wouldn’t it? He’d go ballistic on us and who knows what spell he would cast.” Harry snagged the edge of Draco’s sleeve to lead him down the corridor.

“You,” Draco corrected. “And you might want to be careful around him.”

“Why would I ever be otherwise?” Harry asked, stopping in the middle of the corridor to pull Draco into another kiss, shorter this time than the others. He smoothed his hands over Draco’s waist, moving aside the robes until he was able to tease the bared skin just above Draco’s trousers. He felt Draco shiver against him.

“Good point,” Draco conceded, and walked Harry backwards down the corridor.

Harry lightly ran his fingernail over Draco’s hip. “Yeah,” he said, not really sure what they were talking about anymore. Draco’s hands were toying with the clasp to his cloak, his fingers brushing against Harry’s throat every so often.

All Harry was aware of was Draco’s touch – the feel of Draco’s skin beneath his hands. He couldn’t pay attention to where they were going, and couldn’t really be arsed to care. He did notice, though, when his legs bumped against something, causing him to tumble backwards onto the bed.

Draco crawled up onto the bed, straddling Harry and sitting on his thighs. He leaned over to bury his face in Harry’s neck, and Harry brought his hands around to cup Draco’s arse. Draco jerked a little and bit lightly on Harry’s shoulder. “Behave, Potter,” he admonished, but he pressed back into Harry’s hold.

Harry rolled them over until they were lying side to side. “Neither one of us is really good at behaving around the other, are we?” he said, and began shoving Draco’s robes off until they lay forgotten behind them on the bed. Draco reciprocated quickly and started on the buttons to Harry’s shirt.

“No, not really. And have I told you how good you look in my pants?” He plucked at the top of said garment just barely showing beneath Harry’s trousers.

Harry wriggled the shirt off his left arm so that it pooled beneath him and went for the last remaining button holding Draco’s clothes closed. Draco’s hips bucked involuntarily when the back of Harry’s hand brushed against his cock in his efforts to rid Draco of his trousers. He yelped when Draco tugged his trousers down, and quickly did the same to Draco.

Draco kissed him again, and Harry couldn’t get enough of those kisses, all little nips and tongues and shared breaths. He pulled Draco closer by his hips until he was able to hook his leg over Draco’s, holding him in place as they rutted together. Draco fisted the pants, tugging on them and trying to get them off and remove the last obstacle.

Draco managed to pull them down just enough to release their cocks. His hand immediately wrapped around Harry’s, pulling on it and making Harry’s breath come in short gasps when he twisted his wrist. Draco’s movements didn’t falter when Harry took Draco in hand; they sped up, if anything.

It was euphoric, doing this with Draco after all the teasing Harry may or may not have been imagining. He only broke the kiss to glide his lips over Draco’s chin, down his throat and over to his ear. Draco twisted under him, trying to get Harry’s lips back on his as he bucked and squirmed and stroked Harry.

Draco’s release coated Harry’s hand a moment later, his moan being swallowed by Harry’s hungry kiss. His hand slowed and tightened on Harry’s cock, making Harry gasp and spurt over Draco’s hand.

Their chests rose and fell rapidly, and Harry couldn’t look away from Draco, lying sweaty and messy beside him. Draco’s hand moved up Harry’s body in a slow glide, pausing briefly over Harry’s heart, where he could feel it beating, before continuing and sliding back into Harry’s hair. Harry didn’t even care that Draco could be getting come in his hair; he was far too interested in that powerful look Draco was giving him, the one that said that this could be so much more; full of wicked promises. The one that threatened to make Harry hard again, very quickly.

Good things come in threes, Harry’s always heard: this new, much better, development with Draco, the suspect and his deal with Malfoy’s parents, and the curse that led to it happening.

And of course, the stone that started it all.

 _fin_


End file.
